Chapter Text
“The mind is its own place, and in it self can make a Heav’n of Hell, and a Hell of Heav’n.”
── ⋆⋅☀⋅☾⋅⋆ ──
“Elizabeth!”
Heinrich Harlander smiles as he approaches the convent. He’s dressed in a fine, deep blue ensemble, complete with his characteristic saffron leather gloves and a fox pelt draped over his shoulders. Her uncle has always reminded Elizabeth of a fox, those that live within fairy tales and children’s stories, always sly and deceptive; she doubts the poor animal so elegantly placed upon her uncle’s shoulders had acted any kind of way to deserve its fate aside from the instinctual drive to survive. But her uncle— there’s always something lurking behind his smile, something caught within his teeth, some plot or plan or deal.
The difference this time is that Elizabeth is well aware of the bargain she’s been made a part of.
“Hello, uncle,” she replies, tipping her chin down in greeting. “Hello, Baron.”
The Baron reaches out to take her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. “Absolutely delighted to see you again, Elizabeth.”
The Baron Victor Frankenstein had visited her at the convent a few times before, most recently one week prior. Her uncle had thought it a good match due to the fact that they share a love of science and the natural world, and it had indeed started out well enough. With dark, curling hair and wide, deep eyes, Victor is handsome without a doubt, and they did have an easy kind of camaraderie. In their past meetings he had indulged her love of insects, had seemed interested when she had proudly displayed to him her setting boards full of the metallic carapaces of beetles and the pastel gossamer of butterfly wings. The Baron had expressed his love of science and human anatomy with bright-eyed enthusiasm, had shown her sketches and scematics of his research, and it had almost felt like they were peers, on equal footing. But when they spoke most recently Elizabeth had felt as if she was a specimen, like one of the insects she so lovingly keeps to study. The heat behind the Baron’s eyes was palpable, and whatever it was he longed for, Elizabeth would eventually have to surrender. There may as well have been an iron cage lowered over her during their last conversation for how trapped she felt. She would much rather the Baron simply as a friend rather than a husband, but like so much else in this world, the decision is not hers to make. Another choice stripped from her, as if she ever truly had it in the first place.
“Well, we’d better be off!” her uncle says, bowing at the waist to the sisters that stand in the doorway. “Thank you, sisters, for your generosity in keeping Elizabeth all these years. We will be sure to speak kindly of the convent to all who deign to listen!”
Elizabeth casts one last glance at her home of the last decade, her chest tightening while a subtle heat pricks behind her eyes. If it had been up to her she would stay in the convent for all her days; she had always felt othered and uncomfortable around people, but at least at the convent she could spend her time in prayer or otherwise out of the presence of others— and she wasn’t expected to feign love for a man she did not want. There was a quiet peace within those stone walls, and the holiness of the cathedral had brought her as close as she’d ever been to the wonder she has ever sought. God in His house had touched within her something nameless and vast, but just barely, by the tips of His sanctified fingers. Elizabeth yearns, aches for something more, something she has never been able to identify, and it eats her up inside. Would she have ever found it in the convent? Is she any more likely to find it elsewhere?
With her few meager bags of belongings loaded up the three step into the opulent carriage and set off. The convent shrinks smaller and smaller until it disappears around the rolling hillside, gone from Elizabeth’s life entirely.
Harlander clears his throat, breaking Elizabeth from her reverie. “The Baron’s estate is in Geneva.”
“Yes, it’s quite beautiful,” Victor adds. “There’s a sizable garden that I think you’ll particularly enjoy, complete with sculptures and artificial ponds that attract many of the small creatures you so love. Unfortunately, I will be away from the estate for a time—”
“Business, you see. Unsuited for a lady, to be sure.”
“Yes, business.” The Baron and her uncle share a knowing glance, one that Elizabeth suspects they believe has gone unnoticed. “But there is a moderate staff at the estate that will take care of your every need, and I will be sure to visit as much as I can.”
“How long will this business take?”
“Oh, no longer than a year.”
An entire year? What could he possibly be doing that would keep him away for so long?
They lapse back into silence. There’s a queer energy coming from the Baron that hadn’t been there when they last spoke. Something intense and almost manic hides within his fidgeting hands, slithering between his boots as he crosses and un-crosses his legs for the seventh time. Suspicion rises within her; her uncle is an arms dealer, in the business of death and destruction. If Victor, an apparently skilled surgeon, is collaborating with him and showing this strange behavior, she doesn’t want to imagine what kind of project they’re working on. Better for her not to know, despite her burning curiosity.
Instead of dwelling on the thought, she turns her mind to other matters. Having an entire estate mostly to herself will be nice, she thinks. Yes, she’ll have to keep up some level of appearances in front of the staff, but not having to worry about others' judgement of her strangeness, no feeling oddly disconnected from the world, no interactions that leave her feeling empty and anxious. Of course after a year she’ll have to marry the Baron, but at least until then she can indulge freely. Maybe it will be the same throughout their marriage, with Victor mostly absent and Elizabeth allowed free reign of what is effectively a gilded cage.
They ride all through the day, and just as the sun is dipping below the golden glow of the horizon they arrive at the Frankenstein estate. The Alps form a picturesque backdrop, painted with bright oranges and pinks that only the setting sun can bestow, the colors reflecting like fractals of a far-away diamond off the snow-covered peaks. Lush fields surround the sprawling estate, full of wildflowers bursting with color in their early bloom; a peaceful river winds through and off of the property; and in the near distance she can see the border of a pine forest. As the carriage takes them up the pebbled road to the estate Elizabeth spots the garden at the rear of the building. It’s the first place she will explore, she decides, just as the lush greenery slips out of view behind the massive building.
“Welcome,” the Baron says, opening the carriage door and extending his arm towards the estate, “to your new home.”
A steady hand is offered and Elizabeth takes it, allowing Victor to assist her in exiting the carriage. A group of three men dressed in prim, black uniforms trimmed with gold, and six women dressed as maids stand on the staircase to greet them. A younger woman steps forward: she has a soft, kind face, and looks to be around Elizabeth’s age.
“Elizabeth,” Victor says. “This is Justine, one of our housemaids. She’ll be attending to you from now on.”
Justine dips into a low curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Harlander.”
“Please,” Elizabeth nods her head in return, glad for the woman’s gentle smile. “Call me Elizabeth.”
“Well, I believe it’s time for us to be off!” Her uncle tips his hat in her direction, and raises a brow towards Victor.
She startles at her uncle’s urgency. “So soon?”
“I will return before too long, I assure you.” Victor takes her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. That manic energy is back, pulling her betrothed towards the carriage before her hand has even left his own. “But for now, we must part. The estate is yours to explore, but"—he lowers his voice and leans back in, just a bit closer—“please do not go near the cellar, hm?”
He offers no explanation and does not wait for her response before retreating with her uncle back to the carriage. With a short wave they are off, riding into the soft lavenders of dusk, leaving Elizabeth in the growing shadow of the Frankenstein manor.
“I’m sure you’re exhausted, Lady Harlander,” Justine says as they ascend the opulent staircase into the estate, "what with traveling all day. I will show you to your chambers, which have been fully stocked with everything you could need. In the coming days we will send for anything that will make you feel more at home, and tomorrow I will show you the extent of the grounds. But for tonight, I believe you should get some much needed rest.”
“Thank you, Justine. I am dreadfully tired, and do believe that I need the rest. But, please”—she touches Justine’s shoulder softly, and the woman smiles at her again—“call me Elizabeth. If we are to be quite on our own, here, I should think that we would be friends, don’t you?”
“Yes, you are correct! ‘Lady Elizabeth’ it is, then.” Justine laughs, and Elizabeth does too, and for now things don’t feel so glum.
She is ushered into the estate, whisked up an impressive marble staircase and shown into her chambers in a blur of Baroque paintings and gilded furniture. Her chambers are much the same, with walls covered in paintings of cherubs and angels and the space occupied with fine furnishings. A large canopy bed sits centered against the far wall, with thick purple curtains elegantly draped over its four posters, while a crackling fire dances within a hearth on the opposite side. A dresser and bookcase take up much of the side wall save for a door into a private washroom, and across from that is two french doors leading to a beautiful balcony overlooking the grounds. The room is complete with a full vanity and a writing desk, everything stocked with things that her uncle had thought she’d need.
Justine draws Elizabeth a warm bath, and a deep sigh escapes her as she lowers herself down until the water laps against her chin. She’s grateful for the girl’s insistence on turning in for the night; a terrible ache had grown in her back from the long carriage ride, one that she can now feel slowly unknotting itself beneath the balmy water. Fragrant goat-milk soaps are stacked neatly on a small shelf beside the claw-foot tub, and Elizabeth chooses one scented with lavender and thyme, relishing in the froth that blankets the surface of the water. It’s been years since she’s had a bath so decadent, for at the convent she had lived a simple, quiet life— even the thought of plumbed warm water from a tap would have been outrageous, but the Frankenstein estate is well-equipped with luxuries beyond Elizabeth’s imagining, it seems. For a long while she stays there, trying to clear her mind and think of absolutely nothing, until the water goes cold and she’s forced to emerge.
Elizabeth sits at the vanity to brush out her hair, alternating the silver boar-bristle with the light meal Justine had brought while she was bathing. The vanity looks old but in prime condition, and is far nicer than anything she’d had at the convent. Though she had the privilege of growing up bolstered by her uncle’s wealth, she had lived at the convent for the last ten years and hadn’t much time before that to indulge in the trappings of her uncle’s fortune. Justine had provided her a cup of tea with her meal, and Elizabeth lets the creamy earthen taste of the drink soothe her, draining any remaining tension and calming her body as she braids her hair. The thick, plush mattress dips under her weight when she turns in, and as she pulls the blankets up over her shoulders those creeping thoughts she had been trying to avoid come to her again, insistent, no longer willing to be ignored.
This whole arrangement with her uncle and the Baron was very strange. She had only met the man a few weeks before, and while she hadn’t been under any impression that she’d have a say in the man she was to marry, she thought it odd how quickly everything had happened. It didn’t make sense to pull her from the convent and have her live at the Frankenstein estate when Victor would hardly be around for an entire year; why not just leave her with the sisters and come fetch her when the year was up? If the Baron is so focused on his business with her uncle, what does it matter if she is here or at the convent? On top of that, they had quite literally dropped her at the door of the manor and left, brief as a bolt of lightning, not even staying long enough to step foot inside. She had seen Victor practically bouncing on his heels while waiting for her uncle to climb back into the carriage, the strange energy within him having steadily built through the day as they traveled. And what of the Baron’s comment regarding the cellar?
No, none of it made much sense at all. As Elizabeth drifts off to sleep, thick indigo curtains pulled around the bed to encapsulate her in complete darkness, the image of a fox returns to her mind. Two, now— her uncle and Victor. She is dragged down into her dreams, where the two foxes twist around each other in a predatory dance, hackles raised, pupils wide. Their forms change, growing larger and darker, morphing them into snarling wolves, each snapping at the other’s feet while blood drips from their sharp teeth.
── ⋆⋅☀⋅☾⋅⋆ ──
The morning greets her with syrupy sunlight peeking through the cracks in the bed curtains, reaching its long, warm fingers across her body. For a moment she forgets where she is, expecting to rise in the convent as always. But her memory slowly returns, the events of the last 24 hours gaining clarity with each passing moment. Her life had been turned on its head the moment she had been snatched up from the convent and deposited in the estate in Geneva, and now she must reorient herself in a strange new place, effectively alone.
A soft knocking on the door precludes Justine’s voice. “Lady Elizabeth? I have breakfast if you’re awake!”
“You may come in, Justine.” Elizabeth pulls back the bed curtain and winces at the sunlight streaming in through the balcony doors, the golden rays too bright for her weary eyes. Justine sets down the tray and rushes to pull the balcony’s more opaque curtains over the insistence of the daylight.
“I hope you slept well after the day you had yesterday! You must have been in that carriage for hours. My knees would lock up faster than I could jump out!”
Elizabeth laughs, grateful that Justine seems to have a friendly disposition. Maybe she is not as alone as she thought. “I did, thank you. You assume correctly, we were traveling nearly all day! I think a walk around the estate after breakfast is in order, if you’re able?”
“Oh, of course!” The girl sounds genuinely excited, which excites Elizabeth in turn. “I was told that you are interested in all manner of insects— the garden is in full bloom, so there is much for you to look at, I’m sure. The begonias are the most lovely pink in late spring…”
Justine proceeds to speak about almost every species of flower in the garden while she takes out various skirts and bodices, and Elizabeth eats her breakfast, glad for the other girl’s vivacity. She’s much more comfortable with listening rather than speaking when engaging with people she doesn’t know; somehow when she speaks she always ends up misstepping or asking something she shouldn't. Better to get the measure of someone before she says what’s on her mind, in her experience.
After she’s eaten her breakfast and Justine has helped her dress, the two of them wander around the estate in the form of a tour. The inside is a sprawling space, with so many rooms that Elizabeth can’t see how they could possibly all be of use. There is a vast library lined with more books than even the convent’s library, dotted with cushioned chairs and tables equipped with galvanic light fixtures. An impressive dining room with a dark, shining table that stretches as long as the room itself. At the center of the estate lies a large room with a high ceiling clearly meant for entertaining, and within it lives a beautiful grand pianoforte. Rosewood lacquered to a high shine encases its delicate strings and wondrous mechanisms, while soft violet leather adorns the bench.
“How beautiful!” Elizabeth skims her fingers along the lid, leaving a wake of dust that spirals into the air. “Does the Baron play?”
“Not that I know of. But I hear that his mother very much enjoyed to, God rest her soul.”
“I see. I do so love to play— do you think it would be a bother if I indulged at times?”
“Absolutely not!” Justine claps her hands together in excitement. “Some of us maids do try our hands at the keys from time to time, and one of the valets is surprisingly skilled, but other than that we have not been graced with song from a practiced hand in quite some time. I should think that most would enjoy hearing you play, Lady Elizabeth!”
The tour continues, and eventually the women end up outside. The midday sun shines down upon their shoulders, balmy but not too warm. The garden comes into view, and it is just as grand as Victor had described: geometric hedges clipped to perfection surround manicured trees and bushes, with flowers of every color dotted all around. Various sculptures and statues of different styles and subjects decorate the expanse of the garden, and a large pond is nestled in the center, complete with arcing and twirling water features within, spouting dancing liquid that sends soft ripples throughout the surface.
“It really is quite— Oh!” Justine squeals and jumps, grabbing Elizabeth’s arm and pulling her backwards. “Oh, Lady Elizabeth, there’s a snake!”
Elizabeth narrows her eyes to find the animal, pulling against Justine’s grip. She spots it lounging at the edge of the pond: about a meter long, dark green, a delicate necklace of yellow scales, and a spotted white and black belly. “Oh, Justine," she chides, "it’s only a grass snake. They’re completely harmless!”
“But look at it!” Justine moves so that she’s slightly behind Elizabeth, peering around her shoulder. “It’s so strange and ugly, and probably slimy!”
“Snakes are not slimy— they’re actually quite smooth. This little one will be no bother to us, I'm sure. It’s probably just looking for lunch.”
“Us, you mean!”
“Justine,” she laughs, “they eat frogs, not people! Look, I will take care of it.”
“Please be careful!” Justine does not let Elizabeth out of her grasp easily. “Don’t let it bite you!”
Elizabeth chuckles at the girl, and can’t help but shake her head. She approaches the creature with measured steps, trying to get a closer look before it bolts. Its sleek scales almost shine in the sunlight, and she spots its tiny tongue darting out to scent the air. Alas, it has been watching her with those round, black eyes, and it quickly retreats into the foliage before she can get any closer. Justine, of course, screams when it moves, despite that it had fled in the opposite direction.
“It’s gone, Justine, no need to fret!” She pats Justine’s shoulder when the young woman cautiously approaches. “Truly, grass snakes are totally benign. They are more afraid of you than you are of them!”
“That is difficult for me to believe! You seem familiar with those… things. Do they interest you as well?”
“Well, yes. I’m inclined to all of God’s creatures, especially those that are small.” And misunderstood, but she chooses to omit those words.
“You are more benevolent than I, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Fear should not be our first response when we come upon something that is unfamiliar,” she asserts. “God put everything on this Earth with deliberate intention; it is worth learning about something before deciding if fear is necessary, I believe.”
“That is a very noble way of looking at the world, Lady Elizabeth. I will let you handle the snakes and insects, then, and I will simply smell the flowers!”
Despite Justine’s smile and playful tone, there is a familiar skepticism in her voice that disheartens Elizabeth. So many creatures of this world are misunderstood or mistaken for violent or deemed disgusting. Yes, a snake may bite and a bee may sting, but those actions are instinctual, and mainly defensive. And even if they weren’t, how could she do anything but marvel at God’s design? Thousands of different species, all unique, all beautiful, with a common nature that drives each one endlessly towards the prospect of survival. It has always seemed silly to her that people begrudge an animal for its nature, and that those deemed strange or dangerous are so callously disposed of or mistreated.
Oftentimes she feels just like them— othered and cast aside just for being what they are.